


And Baby Makes Two

by Esperata



Series: And Baby Makes... [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Implied Mpreg, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-14 04:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10528788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esperata/pseuds/Esperata
Summary: Leonard starts suffering a variety of health problems but he doesn't want to worry anyone. Least of all the green-blooded hobgoblin.





	1. Week 4 - Morning Sickness

The sounds of vomiting weren’t that uncommon in sickbay. Hypos against nausea notwithstanding, it was generally better for the body to void whatever noxious substance it needed to. However the fact it was still early morning and they as yet had no patients made the situation somewhat unusual.

“Doctor McCoy?” Nurse Chapel hovered outside the door awkwardly. “Do you need any help?”

There was a long period of silence before she heard flushing and the door opened.

McCoy looked slightly unsteady, unusually pale and quite tired.

“Do you need a hangover hypo?” she offered as sympathetically as she could.

His eyes flashed angrily at her.

“I’m not damned well hungover!” he snapped. “I haven’t touched a drop in days!”

Christine didn’t apologise. It was, she felt, a perfectly reasonable question to have asked in the circumstances.

“I’m just…” he deflated slightly. “I guess I must’ve picked up a bug from someone. I didn’t sleep well either,” he admitted softly.

Christine forgave his irritability as she always did.

“Maybe you should have stayed in your quarters and rested.”

He smiled at her.

“Thought you usually couldn’t wait to get your boss in sickbay when I’m even slightly under the weather.”

“I know well enough that unless you’re physically incapable, you can’t help but work when you’re here. Even if you should be resting.”

“I’ll be fine,” he waved her concern away. “I’m feeling much better already.”

She hesitated but couldn’t deny that he did appear to have recovered. His colour looked to have improved since throwing up and he seemed to be regaining his focus during their conversation.

“Well, alright. But I think you should run a quick check just in case it’s something contagious. It wouldn’t do for the CMO to start spreading sickness throughout the crew.”

He grinned.

“Can’t argue with that. Why don’t you run the scan just to be sure?”

She nodded and fetched the handheld medical scanner. McCoy waited patiently while she passed it up and down, checking the readings carefully.

“Well? Will I live?”

It was a tired joke but Christine still smiled.

“You’re perfectly fine,” she confirmed. “You must have vomited out whatever was causing the nausea.”

He nodded.

“Good. Glad that’s out of the way. Now let’s see who’s due their physicals shall we?”

♡

Christine passed the doctor a damp cloth.

“Sick again?” she queried unnecessarily. He’d come into sickbay looking green around the gills and headed straight to the head. She’d waited with a frown until he’d emerged a few minutes later, pink tinting his cheeks but unnaturally sweaty.

He nodded and she fetched him a glass of water.

“Dammit,” he muttered after taking a few swallows. He seemed puzzled.

“Have you been eating anything unusual recently?” she probed. “No foreign drinks gifted your way?”

“Nothing unusual,” he shook his head. “The normal replicated fare. No-one else has been in with nausea have they?”

It was a question to which he already knew the answer but she confirmed it anyway.

“No-one.”

There was a long silence as he apparently mulled over possibilities.

“Perhaps you should get Doctor M’Benga or Sanchez to examine you?” she suggested.

“No. That isn’t necessary. It’ll only flag it up as a problem and it’s not really anything to worry about.”

Christine frowned and was about to point out his health was always something to worry about when he continued.

“I’ll run another batch of tests today. See if it isn’t something alien we missed yesterday. I’ll get a yeoman to run a clean-up in my quarters too.”

“Won’t that flag it up?” she pointed out.

“No. It’s not that unusual for the CMO to request a complete detox of either sickbay or quarters as a precautionary measure.”

Christine thought this over.

“Perhaps it is a contaminant you’ve accrued in your quarters. Did you sleep poorly again?”

He nodded.

“I was fine all through yesterday. Tired as a horse but then I just tossed and turned all night before…” he gestured to where he’d previously been sick.

“It does seem logical that it’s something affecting you in your quarters then,” she smirked.

“Don’t you start using that blasted word,” he pointed accusatorily at her. “And don’t go mentioning this to the hobgoblin or the captain. You’re still covered by doctor-patient confidentiality you know.”

“I know,” she replied tartly before softening her tone. “They’d want to know though.”

“Know what?” He shrugged. “There’s nothing really to tell is there? Jim would only worry unnecessarily and Spock, well, Spock would probably use it as an excuse to get me left out of everything.”

“I’m sure he would be concerned as well.”

McCoy actually snorted at that.

“He’s _Vulcan_. Vulcans don’t do concern.”

“He’s half-human. And you know that’s not true.”

She forced him to meet her gaze and he relented.

“Yeah, I remember. But that was _Jim_. Wouldn’t be the same with me.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain.”

“Yes, well I am,” he snapped decisively. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a number of tests to run.”

So saying he stalked off into his office.

♡

“Goddammit!”

Christine was knelt next to McCoy today, running a soothing hand across his shoulders. He retched again although there was nothing left to come up.

“Try to take a few sips,” she suggested, gently holding the water out to him.

He cautiously leant back and breathed deeply. After a few seconds he took the glass and carefully sipped. He let his eyes fall shut as she took the drink away and watched him carefully.

It was clear he’d not slept well again. Much more of this and she’d be ethically compelled to inform M’Benga. She hoped she could convince Leonard before she had to intervene though.

“They changed everything possible in your quarters?” she confirmed.

He nodded.

“Ran it all over with detox too. Shouldn’t be anything harmful in there.”

She considered carefully how to phrase her next question.

“You ran every test you could think of but what if it’s something outside your sphere of knowledge?”

Watery blue eyes opened and he gave her a wry smile.

“Then we’ll be shooting in the dark as usual.”

“I think you should ask M’Benga’s opinion,” she stated firmly. “He may have come across something that could give you a lead. At the very least he’d be in the loop if this gets any worse.”

McCoy mulled that over and it was a measure of how run down he had to be feeling that he gave in without an argument.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll call him in to see if he can come up with any other alternatives.”

He staggered up to his feet.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t go and rest Doctor?” Chapel asked worriedly as he weaved slightly.

“Make up your mind Nurse,” McCoy teased lightly. “Do you want me to wait for the doctor or head home?”

She frowned.

“I want you well,” she told him plainly.

He smiled in gratitude.

“It’ll be fine Christine. We always figure it out in the end don’t we?”

She managed a smile for him.

“I suppose so,” she agreed, even as she continued to worry.

♡

“Have you been experiencing any other symptoms? Anything at all unusual?” M’Benga asked.

The African doctor had McCoy up on a biobed, recording all the readouts.

“Not really,” McCoy answered. “Well, apart from restless nights.”

“Restless how?”

“Tossing and turning. Unable to get to sleep and then waking suddenly thinking I need to pee only to get up to find I don’t at all.”

“Not nauseous during the night?”

“No. That only hits in the morning and passes quickly.”

“So… restless nights and morning sickness,” M’Benga said with a smirk tugging at his lips. McCoy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know but I ain’t pregnant.”

M’Benga smiled broadly at him before turning serious once again.

“Could it be Couvade syndrome?”

McCoy openly stared at him.

“You have no signs of viruses or bacterial infections,” M’Benga related factually. “You’ve not been subjected to any alien parasites, either physically or telepathically… no alien contact at all since Melkot where any affects would be expected to show in Mister Scott and the Captain if not Mister Spock as well-”

“So your conclusion is that I’m suffering a sympathetic pregnancy?” McCoy interrupted, suddenly finding his voice. M’Benga was unfazed by his boss’ hostility.

“It’s the only solution that so far matches the facts.”

“Who am I supposed to be sharing these damn symptoms with?!”

M’Benga shrugged non-committedly.

“There’s a few women on board with reported pregnancies. It’s entirely possible you’re reacting to one or all of them.”

“That’s crazy! I never had any of this when Joceyln was pregnant! Why should I suddenly develop sympathy pains with women I barely know?”

“I have no idea but it _is_ my best theory so far. And if I’m right it will probably only last a few weeks,” he added quickly.

“Or until the next batch of women come in for pregnancy tests,” McCoy grouched.

“It’s probably a one-time thing,” M’Benga commented. “After all, it’s never occurred before.”

McCoy eyed him but decided against pursuing the argument. He had to agree the solution fit the facts as presented so far. So unless he developed any different symptoms he’d work with what they knew.

“Right, so I can expect a few weeks of nausea.”

M’Benga nodded.

“You may also develop unusual aches or pains, cravings, altered hormone levels-”

“Alright, alright.” McCoy waved him off as he got down from the bed. “I know the symptoms.”

M’Benga caught his arm before he could leave.

“Leonard,” he said seriously. “Tell me if anything else changes. Couvade is my best theory now but I’ll be willing to re-evaluate if you develop any other symptoms.”

McCoy recognised the genuine concern in his friend’s eyes and nodded.

“Don’t worry, I will.”

♡

McCoy was expecting the visit but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it.

“Why didn’t you come to me yourself?” Jim demanded. “I shouldn’t be hearing you’re ill through M’Benga’s medical report.”

“I’m hardly ‘ill’, Jim,” McCoy replied with a shrug. “Sympathy pains is all. Probably wear off in a few days.”

“Uh-huh.” Jim remained unconvinced, knowing from past experience that Bones was in the habit of downplaying his own health problems. “M’Benga says you’re vomiting every morning and not sleeping at night.”

“I sleep!” McCoy shifted awkwardly. “Just not _well_.”

“He also says there’s a possibility you’ll develop further symptoms.”

“A possibility, Jim. It’s hardly a foregone conclusion.”

Jim drummed his fingers on the table.

He’d opted to visit Bones in the doctor’s quarters after their shifts had ended rather than confront him on what he couldn’t help but think of as the doctor’s territory. Strangely, the man’s own quarters felt more like neutral ground, possibly because it conveyed less of his personality than sickbay.

He also wanted to keep the conversation on a personal level rather than professional. He was here as Bones’ friend rather than his captain.

“All the same,” Jim continued. “I’d have rather heard it from you Bones.”

“If I’d thought it was important enough to worry you with, I’d have told you. It’s not affecting my ability to do my job.”

“This isn’t about your job performance. I know you’d have told me if that was affected… but dammit Bones! I’m your _friend_. I want to know when you’re suffering.”

McCoy smiled at him.

“I know Jim. But it’s really not a big deal.”

Jim let out a defeated sigh. Bones wasn’t going to make this easy. He never did.

“I’m going to be keeping an eye on you from here on,” he told the doctor firmly. “And I’ll make sure Spock does too.”

That got a reaction.

“Now look here, you are **not** to tell the Vulcan.”

“He’d want to know too-” Jim began only to be over-ridden.

“As captain you’re compelled to maintain doctor-patient confidentiality,” McCoy informed him. “You have to be informed but you’re not at liberty to gossip amongst the crew!”

“It’s Spock, Bones. I’d hardly call telling him gossiping.”

“I’m _asking_ you, Jim, as the patient in this situation, not to tell anyone. Especially Spock.”

“I know you two argue,” Jim tried reasoning with McCoy, “But you _are_ friends. He’d want to know.”

McCoy was shaking his head.

“I’m not really disputing that Jim but… he already thinks I’m the most illogical person in the universe, can you imagine how much worse it’d be if he knows I’ve developed some psychosomatic pregnancy? He’d bring it up in every argument we ever have!”

“Bones-”

“Jim,” McCoy interrupted firmly. “I promise if things get worse I’ll tell him myself but there’s really no need to tell him anything. You said yourself my work’s not compromised. Please, Jim.”

It was the ‘please’ that broke him. Jim couldn’t really say no after that.

“Alright,” he agreed. “But if you get any worse we tell him.”

“Scout’s honour,” McCoy promised.


	2. Week 8 - Hormone Imbalance

The messhall was crowded and noisy as Kirk joined McCoy at his table.

“You feeling better?” Jim asked with a nod towards the doctor’s plate.

McCoy glared at him over the tray which, unusually for the calorie counting doctor, was piled with pancakes, blueberries, maple syrup and bacon.

“No,” he replied dourly. “But throwing up your breakfast will make you hungry come lunchtime.”

Jim nodded as he ate his own meal.

“Any other symptoms?” he asked.

“Yeah. Annoyance,” McCoy snapped before shovelling another mouthful in. “I’m getting sick and tired of everybody asking how I am. I’ll damn well report if there’s any change!”

Jim bit back pointing out that McCoy hardly had a good track record of reporting his illnesses and instead suggested,

“Only three people know Bones. It’s hardly ‘everybody’.”

“Well, three people is still too damn many if you ask me.” He speared a piece of bacon aggressively. “It’s not like it’s even a real illness.”

Jim was surprised at the doctor taking that view.

“It may be psychosomatic Bones but it’s no less real for that. You’re suffering physical reactions.”

Bones tensed as if to shout at him but then suddenly deflated.

“Hell, I know that Jim.” He smiled weakly. “I wasn’t lying when I said ‘annoyance’ was another symptom. Seems I’m getting moody.”

Jim chuckled.

“At least most people won’t recognise that as anything other than your usual sunny disposition.”

“Hush you,” McCoy said in a mock stern voice but couldn’t help a smile.

“Gentlemen,” a calm voice interrupted as Spock joined them at the table.

McCoy tensed again.

“Mister Spock,” Jim greeted him jovially. “We were just discussing McCoy’s renowned bedside manner.”

“Really, Captain?” Spock turned to regard McCoy, arching one eyebrow as he did so. “I was unaware you possessed such a thing,” he remarked placidly.

McCoy flushed but instead of rebuffing Spock’s remark as expected he shoved his plate away.

“Sorry,” he answered, standing abruptly. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”

Jim’s smile fell as their friend hastily left and Spock seemed perturbed.

“Did I say something to upset the doctor?” he enquired.

“No Spock, it’s nothing you’ve done,” Jim assured him.

“Then what has caused Doctor McCoy to abandon his meal?”

Jim hesitated, unsure how to best reply.

McCoy was correct that although as captain he was privy to medical confidences, he was also compelled to maintain those secrets. And M’Benga had reported McCoy’s condition through official channels so Jim couldn’t get round it by saying Bones had confided as a friend… even if that would have put him in the position of betraying a friend’s confidence.

However he owed it to Spock to give him as honest a reply as possible.

“McCoy’s been troubled lately by a rather unusual medical problem,” he said, happy that the wording didn’t actually state Bones himself was suffering the problem, even if Spock might assume that.

“And this is affecting his appetite?” Spock sounded dubious.

Jim nodded.

“It is. But it’s nothing serious,” he assured the Vulcan.

“If you say so,” he agreed reluctantly accepting the captain’s explanation.

♡

“Dammit Jim!” McCoy burst into Jim’s quarters like a man possessed. “You deliberately set me up!” he declared.

Kirk, who had been sitting reading through Starfleet reports, blinked in puzzlement.

“What are you talking about? Set what up?”

McCoy crossed his arms and glared at his captain.

“You damn well sent the Vulcan to sickbay, knowing full well he’d find me with my head practically round the u-bend.”

Jim frowned as he tried to piece together what was going on.

“Spock went in to sickbay?” he asked.

“Yes!” McCoy exploded, arms flailing. “Turned up first thing to collect the daily med logs and found me hurling! That was a dirty trick to pull Jim.”

“It wasn’t me, Bones, I swear. Spock left the bridge to run an errand. He didn’t say what.” A thought suddenly struck him. “Why hadn’t Christine run those logs up already?”

McCoy shifted, suddenly looking defensive.

“Christine stayed with me. Said she wouldn’t leave any patient in the state I was in.”

“State? Just how bad were you? Bones, you said you’d tell me if it got worse!”

“Well, I’m telling you now ain’t I?” Bones crossed his arms again. “It’s lasting longer is all.”

Jim sighed and surveyed his friend.

“Bones, if I’d wanted to set you up, I’d have sent Spock down before our shift started since I had no idea it was _lasting longer_. Spock just went down because the usual report hadn’t arrived. He may well have gone himself because he was _concerned_ -”

“Don’t pull that again.” McCoy waved the suggestion away and sat down heavily opposite Jim. “I guess he was just _concerned_ with efficiency as usual.”

Jim looked him over.

“What did you tell him?”

McCoy looked faintly guilty but replied honestly.

“Told him I’d overindulged the night before. He didn’t seem too impressed.”

“I daresay he wasn’t. Bones why didn’t you just tell him the truth? He’d be more understanding of a doctor suffering sympathy pains with patients than a doctor getting so hungover he’s throwing up in his own sickbay.”

McCoy winced.

“I know, I know, it’s just…”

Jim waited, wondering why on earth Bones had to be so stubborn about something so ridiculous.

“I just don’t want to involve him in this okay?”

“That makes no sense.” Jim frowned. “Telling him is hardly involving him.”

McCoy huffed out a long breath.

“Please?”

“Alright,” Jim agreed wearily, once again relenting to the doctor’s baby blues. “But for the record, I still think it’d be easier if you just told him.”

“Duly noted.”

Kirk eyed the doctor slumped across from him and glanced at the chronometer.

“Look,” he started cautiously, “Spock’s due for chess in ten minutes or so.” McCoy made to push himself up and Jim quickly hurried on. “Why don’t you stay?”

“Stay and watch you two stare at a chess board?” McCoy muttered sarcastically but he made no further effort to move.

“Just keep us company. You may deny Spock cares at all but he’s certainly noticed your attitude of late. Running off when he joins us in the messhall, chasing him out of sickbay or letting Christine deal with him… and you’ve hardly spoken to him on the bridge beyond acknowledgments.”

Kirk didn’t add that practically the entire crew had noticed.

“Guess I have been a trifle defensive,” McCoy admitted sheepishly.

“I know you don’t want to tell him, Bones, but why does that have to mean you avoid him entirely?”

“It’s more than just not wanting him to know it’s…” McCoy trailed off, clearly struggling to put his feelings into words. “I don’t know Jim! It all feels a bit too personal with Spock.”

Jim mulled those words over as he pretended to go back to his reports. Out of the corner of his eye he could see McCoy stretching out and rubbing at his lower back before settling back into the chair and laying a hand over his midriff. He decided he really didn’t need to rile the good doctor further by pointing that out.

The chime at the door broke his train of thought and he quickly hollered out,

“Come.”

Spock stepped smartly inside but drew up short on seeing McCoy.

“Hiya Spock,” the doctor waved from his chair.

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock acknowledged. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Jim rose and headed towards the replicator. “I invited the doctor to join us this evening.”

“Ah.” Spock seemingly wasn’t certain what to add to that. It was perhaps a testament to how consistently McCoy had been blanking him that he offered no further comment.

“Thought I might learn something.” McCoy offered the opening as an olive branch.

“Your chess skills could certainly stand some improvement,” Spock responded automatically and McCoy grinned.

Kirk felt a weight lift as he saw the genuine smile directed at his First Officer but he interrupted before any headway could be lost.

“Drink?”

“I’ll just have juice,” McCoy replied blithely.

Two sets of eyebrows rose at him.

“Juice, Bones?” Jim queried. “You’re not actually-” he cut himself off before he could say ‘pregnant’ but McCoy was already scowling.

“I’m allowed to want juice ain’t I? It’s got nothing to do with any illnesses.” His eyes flickered briefly to Spock, still standing, but shied away. “Just don’t feel like getting intoxicated right now.”

“I fail to see what is inappropriate about the doctor’s choice,” Spock added, finally taking his seat by the chess board. “He has chosen a most refreshing drink.”

A pink tinge lit McCoy’s cheeks and Jim backed down.

“Juice it is. What kind?”

McCoy seemed to flounder at that.

“Have you tried _tolik_ fruit Doctor?” Spock asked.

“No, what’s that?”

“It is a most succulent fruit grown round Lake Yuron on Vulcan. It makes a popular intoxicant called a ‘sour fizz’ yet I prefer it in its unfermented state.”

A smile played about McCoy’s lips as he tried to avoid smirking.

“You don’t say,” he replied drily before turning to Jim. “ _Tolik_ fruit juice,” he ordered.

“Coming right up.”

Jim handed out the drinks and then eyed McCoy as he took a mouthful of juice and swirled it appreciatively.

“That’s good Spock,” the doctor admitted as he swallowed it. “It’s got quite a kick for unfermented fruit but its sweet too.”

“I believe it’s ‘kick’ is what recommends it as an intoxicant,” Spock replied.

“Probably give Scotty’s scotch a run for its money.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” the Vulcan decided.

McCoy took another sip and nodded thoughtfully.

“I think I could grow to like this,” he concluded.

Spock looked almost pleased.

♡

“Goddamn, stupid, bureaucratic, ass-” The rest of the sentence was drowned out by crashing furniture.

Spock checked the crewman passing by him in the corridor but none of them seemed aware of the commotion behind the closed door. It was apparently only his superior hearing that had allowed him to overhear the doctor’s tirade. This would allow him the option of avoiding making the incident official.

He stepped briskly to the door which whisked open before him. He quickly moved inside, so the door would shut and allow them some privacy, before surveying the scene.

Data discs were scattered across the floor, as were several overturned chairs that must have been hurled with some considerable force.

Sat in front of a computer screen, Doctor McCoy had his head in his hands and gave no sign that he was aware of Spock’s arrival.

“Doctor.” Spock deliberately kept his tone neutral.

“You gonna throw me in the brig?” The voice was muffled as McCoy had yet to raise his head.

“Have you done anything to warrant incarceration?”

McCoy did look up at that. His eyes were alarmingly red.

“I’d thought destruction of Federation property would be excuse enough.”

Spock made sure McCoy saw him look around the dishevelled room.

“It does not appear you have broken anything,” he responded mildly. “Can you explain why you decided to… rearrange the furniture?”

The doctor laughed despite himself.

“Because I’m an illogical, overly emotional human?” he remarked. Spock raised an eyebrow.

“To my knowledge, Doctor, you have always been that. However you are not generally in the habit of throwing chairs around.”

McCoy let out a sigh.

“Just had a rather frustrating call from Starfleet Medical,” he explained. “I requested a team be sent to deliver medical supplies to Platonius-”

“Platonius?” Spock queried with a raised eyebrow. “Doctor, that planet was quarantined with good reason. It would be dangerous for any ship to attempt an orbit.”

“I know that,” McCoy snapped before letting out another sigh. “I was suggesting an unmanned probe take the supplies down.”

Spock considered this and decided it was a logical enough suggestion.

“It would seem to be a very philanthropic gesture, considering what their people attempted to do.”

“I know they’re cruel, don’t get me wrong. After seeing what they did to you and Jim… not to mention Christine and Nyota… but dammit! I’m a doctor! Those people have next to no resistance against infection. I can’t just ignore that!”

Spock surveyed the passionate human.

“Your dedication does you credit Doctor. It seems however that Starfleet did not agree?”

“No, they did not. Said if the Platonians wanted aid they could ask for it. I pointed out they were more likely to grab it from an unsuspecting passer-by but that didn’t go over well.”

“May I assume you phrased that point of view in your usual colourful language?”

A smile tugged at McCoy’s lips.

“I might have used a few more expressive phrases.”

Spock nodded to himself.

“It is perhaps unsurprising then that your superiors chose not to listen to your suggestion.”

McCoy puffed up angrily.

“Now see here-” he began before Spock chose to interrupt him, unwilling to become the target for the doctor’s annoyance.

“How does this relate to the subsequent state of the room?”

McCoy was momentarily distracted.

“I was _annoyed_ , Spock. Frustrated, angry, irritated-”

“And throwing the chairs about the room helped?”

“Actually, yes. I was certainly feeling less irritated before _you_ came in.”

“Doctor, when I entered the room you appeared distressed. Distraught even.”

McCoy crossed his arms defensively.

“Wasn’t angry anymore though,” he mumbled.

Spock let the silence fill the room.

“Alright!” McCoy flung his arms out. “I’ve been over tired and it’s making me overly emotional. Happy now?”

“In point of fact no.”

“Goddamn unemotional hobgoblin,” McCoy muttered.

“As First Officer, the welfare of the crew is my concern-”

McCoy cut him off with a resigned wave.

“It’s already been reported. M’Benga’s monitoring my sleep patterns. You don’t have to do anything.”

“On the contrary,” Spock retorted. “I must put in my own suggestion that medical supplies be dispatched to Platonius.”

McCoy eyed him suspiciously.

“Your request may have been poorly phrased, Doctor, but it was a logical suggestion to prevent the Platonians seeking supplies elsewhere.”

With a slight nod he turned to leave, only turning back at the door to add, “Please rearrange the room before you leave Doctor.”


	3. Week 12 - Food Cravings

As the last ensign left, Doctor McCoy let himself lean against the biobed and close his eyes. He was feeling aches he knew he damn well shouldn’t be feeling.

“Do you even know you’re doing that?” Christine’s voice broke through his daze.

He glanced over the room towards her.

“Doing what?”

“You’re caressing your abdomen,” she replied with a trace of amusement.

He snapped his hand away as though burned.

“Goddammit,” he muttered. She smiled at him.

“You look exhausted,” she commented. “Did you manage to keep down any breakfast today?”

“Some,” he replied vaguely.

“Do you want me to fetch you anything?”

She saw him waver, clearly tempted but holding back from admitting it.

“I was going to get something myself,” she lied smoothly.

“Alright then,” he agreed. “I’d just about kill for a vanilla malt right now.”

She smiled broadly and went to get them both malts from the sickbay replicator.

It reminded her of her academy days as they both sat on the desk and drank their calorific drinks.

They glanced up as the door swished open to reveal Mister Spock. Christine made to move but McCoy gripped her arm and spoke up.

“We’re on a well earned break here. So unless it’s an emergency…?” he quirked an eyebrow at the First Officer who responded in kind.

“I am in fact off duty,” he replied, subtly allowing them their ‘break’.

“Good,” McCoy declared. “Then we can finish our shakes in peace.”

“’Shakes’?” Spock queried.

“They’re malts, Mister Spock. Would you care to try some?” Christine held out her drink.

Spock sniffed it its general direction.

“It appears to contain an intoxicant,” he commented.

McCoy snorted indelicately.

“You mean chocolate. Here, try mine. Its vanilla.”

Spock stepped towards the doctor and cautiously took a sip from the pro-offered straw. McCoy watched in obvious amusement.

“It would seem to be rather high in fat content.”

McCoy smirked and placed the straw back between his lips before responding.

“It’s high in calcium and iron for your information. Now, what brings you here? I’m guessing it wasn’t just to sample the wares.”

Christine hid her smirk behind her straw.

“Indeed, Doctor. The Captain suggested I invite you to join him in his quarters this evening.”

McCoy eyed the Vulcan as he sucked the last of his malt up the straw.

“May I presume you’re invited as well?” he said eventually.

“I am.”

McCoy considered the prospect and weighed the likelihood of Jim trying to corner him into admitting anything to Spock.

“If my presence tonight is off putting I can decline the captain’s invitation,” Spock offered.

“No!” McCoy shoved himself off the desk and met Spock’s gaze. “I’m not put off by your company Spock. Just contemplating if I’m too tired for socialising.”

Spock’s frown was minute but discernible.

“You have been more tired of late,” he commented. “Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

“Some,” McCoy admitted vaguely, turning away to deposit his shake in the recycling as much as to avoid Spock’s eyes. “But company will probably do me good.”

“I shall see you this evening then Doctor. Nurse,” he nodded slightly before making his way out.

♡

“No.”

McCoy stared at his plate as though it personally had offended him.

“What’s wrong?” Jim demanded, trying rather unsuccessfully to hide his testy tone.

“It’s bleeding Jim,” McCoy said plaintively.

Jim was about to comment that McCoy usually liked his steaks rare when he noticed the pallor on his friend’s cheeks.

“Bad day in sickbay?” he asked instead, standing and removing the untouched food.

McCoy stared at the empty space in front of him.

“It turned my stomach,” he muttered vaguely.

“Perhaps now you will appreciate the merits of a vegetarian diet,” Spock pointed out.

“Oh don’t start!” McCoy rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Not now,” he added in a quieter tone.

Spock shared a confused glance with Jim.

“My apologies Doctor,” he offered sincerely.

McCoy remained hidden behind his hand.

“What would you like instead?” Jim tried.

McCoy lowered his hand and looked round.

“Perhaps this was a bad idea. I’ll just-” he made to stand but Spock promptly caught his wrist.

“Doctor, you are pale and need to eat. Sit.”

The room froze as McCoy seemed caught between fight and flight. Finally he dropped back into his chair.

“Fine.” He looked up awkwardly through his lashes. “Sorry I’m not being very good company,” he apologised.

“No apology necessary,” Jim told him. “We just want to make sure you’re alright. Now, what can I tempt you to?”

McCoy huffed out a breath.

“I dunno. I want something homey, something comforting… but I also want something different. Something I don’t recognise.” He shrugged.

“Doctor, your request makes very little sense.”

“You think I don’t know that?” McCoy seemed amused at himself.

There was a silence before Spock spoke hesitatingly.

“Would you care to try _bertakk-torrafeiaca_ stew?”

McCoy sat up a little.

“That sounds promising. Stew seems homey yet I have no idea what you said before that.”

“It is a Vulcan dish that I find helps relax the mind for meditation.”

“You mean it’s comforting,” McCoy surmised.

“A human may well call it that,” Spock allowed.

“Very well,” Jim joined the conversation. “Let’s give that a whirl.”

He used Spock’s meal card to order up three dishes of stew and set them out.

McCoy inhaled deeply and let out a sigh.

“Oh that smells good.”

Jim cautiously tasted a piece and his eyes watered slightly.

“It’s quite… spicy,” he commented lightly.

Spock was eating his with his usual calm.

“It is perhaps too hot for the human palette,” he conceded. “Vulcan dishes tend to be highly spiced. I was not expecting to share this recipe or I would have made allowances.”

“No, no,” Jim assured him, none-the-less rising to fetch a glass of water.

“Jim,” Spock interrupted him, “Water is inadvisable. You will merely spread the spices. I would suggest _kreyla_ bread.”

“ _Kreyla_ bread,” Jim muttered, none-the-less following Spock suggestion. As he chewed the bread, he had to concede the suggestion was a good one as it carried the spiciness away.

“That hit the spot.”

Two sets of eyes turned to McCoy, who had already managed to clear his plate.

“Bones,” Jim admonished. “Did you inhale that?”

“So sue me, I was hungry,” he replied unapologetically before looking slightly bashful. “Uh, anyone mind if I get some more?”

Jim made a ‘not at all’ gesture and shared a surprised look with Spock.

As the doctor returned to the table with a new plate of stew and a side of bread he noticed the silence. He shot a glare at his companions.

“You got something to say, spit it out,” he demanded.

“I am surprised you are showing such a liking for Vulcan food, Doctor,” Spock replied smoothly. “You usually delight in insulting everything Vulcan, myself included.”

“Just because I insult ya don’t mean I don’t like you,” McCoy muttered, spooning more stew in. Spock raised an eyebrow but seemingly didn’t know how to respond to that remark. Jim smirked slightly as he soaked up more stew with his bread.

“I think the good doctor’s delicate condition is mellowing him,” he teased.

McCoy glowered.

“I fail to see how insomnia would mellow anyone,” Spock was genuinely confused.

Jim realised his mistake and focused his attention onto his plate.

“I think Jim meant I’m too tired to fight right now,” McCoy said shortly. “And he’s right. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to turn in.”

“Oh Bones. Don’t get huffy!”

“I ain’t huffy,” McCoy announced as he headed for the door. “But I am tired.” He looked back and Jim saw he was genuine about that remark at least. “Thanks for dinner, Jim. Spock.”

The door swished shut behind him and Spock turned his attention back to his captain.

“I am concerned about him,” he admitted.

“Me too,” Jim agreed. “Me too.”

♡

McCoy dropped into his office chair gratefully before wincing in discomfort.

“Goddammit,” he muttered to himself, leaning forward and rubbing a hand across his lower back.

The surgery had been gruelling. The alien parasite had wrapped itself so tightly around the lieutenant’s spinal cord that it was in danger of embedding itself. McCoy had been forced to open up the man’s back and spend painstaking hours pealing it away and cauterising breaks to prevent the damn thing regrowing even as he worked. By the time he was sure nothing was left, and that the lieutenant would make a full recovery, he was physically exhausted.

His mind however was still active, analysing the creature from a biological point of view, and McCoy knew it would be an hour at least before he could contemplate sleep.

His office door slid open to reveal the First Officer.

“What do you want?” McCoy practically growled.

If Spock was bothered by the less than warm welcome, he did not show it.

“I wished to clarify a point from your report,” he announced. “You stated the creature was able to regrow from any cut made however it was not clear if it regrew an identical part or multiple parts.”

McCoy attempted a glare but decided it was too much effort.

“Far as I could tell, identical,” he muttered.

Spock nodded as he absorbed that information but he did not leave.

“Doctor, you appear to be in some distress.”

“Wha-?”

McCoy abruptly realised he was still trying rather unsuccessfully to ease his lower back pain. It may have started the day as a psychosomatic pain but standing over a biobed had upgraded it to deep muscle pain.

“Goddamn ache in my back,” he muttered. “Sonic shower should help it.”

“If I may?” Spock stepped closer and McCoy leaned back in alarm.

“What are you doing?”

“I am well versed in the nerve structure of many lifeforms Doctor. I may be able to ease some of the receptors currently sending pain signals, enough to enable you to seek proper rest.”

There was a long pause as McCoy mentally parsed Spock’s sentence.

“You offering me a massage?” he asked, half amused and half horrified.

“That would be an inaccurate assessment,” Spock corrected him. “I will merely manipulate the nerve endings situated around the muscles currently causing you pain.”

“Sounds like a damn massage to me,” McCoy muttered, still eying the Vulcan speculatively. Spock merely waited for his agreement or refusal.

Finally, with a huff, McCoy pushed himself upright.

“Alright. But if you breathe a word of this to Jim I will make your next physical hell.”

He saw the expected eyebrow rise before Spock moved swiftly into position behind him.

“I assure you,” he answered. “I see no need to inform the captain.”

Spock’s voice so close behind him made the doctor tense, even before he felt the hands press across his lower back.

“Your muscles are very stiff,” Spock admonished.

“Yeah, well, three hours of surgery will do that.”

To his slight surprise Spock seemed to bypass over the muscles and moved onto twin spots either side. Suddenly, his thumbs pressed abruptly and the sensation of pain ceased.

“You should consider yoga,” Spock continued placidly.

“I do callisthenics,” McCoy replied absently as he tested his movement. “That’s a useful trick,” he conceded reluctantly.

Spock moved away, back towards the door.

“It is not a viable long term solution. Your muscles are still overly tensed. However it should allow you to achieve a restful state conducive to relaxing the muscles.”

“You mean it will help me get to sleep,” McCoy translated.

“I believe I said that Doctor,” Spock replied before turning to leave.

“Ah, Spock?” McCoy spoke before the Vulcan had quite left. “Thanks.”

“You are quite welcome.”

♡

Christine arrived particularly early at sickbay, knowing that today was inventory day and not wishing to be kept any later than usual at the end of her shift.

She was surprised as she approached the supply room to hear a soft, Georgian voice singing softly.

“ _Hush, little baby, don't say a word,_  
_Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird._  
_And if that mockingbird don't sing,_  
_Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring._  
_And if that diamond ring turns brass,_  
_Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass._  
_And if that looking glass is broke,_  
_Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat-_ ”

Christine quite deliberately spoke to the computer in the main office as though she couldn’t hear a thing.

“Computer, bring up the current inventory for medical supplies of USS Enterprise.”

The singing stopped abruptly but it was several moments before McCoy himself appeared in the room.

“Oh! Christine.” He gave every impression of being surprised, subscribing to the same pretence she was. “You’re in early aren’t you?”

“Good morning Doctor. I wanted to make a start on the inventory,” she commented with remarkable calm.

“Great minds think alike.” He smiled and held out a PADD to her. “How about you read them out and I check the stock?”

“Certainly Doctor,” she agreed and followed him back to the other room.


	4. Week 16 - Vivid Dreams

Nurse Chapel didn’t stop to ask any questions. As soon as she saw McCoy stagger into sickbay, looking washed out and distant, she commed M’Benga.

She watched McCoy avidly as she awaited the other doctor and was further alarmed when he didn’t even notice her scrutiny.

When M’Benga stepped in and caught sight of McCoy he too didn’t hesitate.

“Doctor McCoy. Your office please.”

He used enough command to prompt McCoy into reacting without arguing but kept his tone light enough that the stubborn Georgian wouldn’t dig his heels in. However he made sure to seat himself in the physician’s chair just to make absolutely clear who was the doctor in this situation.

McCoy faltered as he stepped into his office to see M’Benga seated and then it twigged.

“Dammit Christine,” he growled, although the nurse would not hear him in the sound dampened room.

“Sit down Leonard,” M’Benga suggested.

“I didn’t ask to see a doctor,” he groused instead, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Leonard, you look like death,” Geoffrey replied plainly.

“Goddammit! You try being pregnant and then…” 

He winced as he realised what he’d said and hoped M’Benga wouldn’t pick up on it.

He promptly reassessed that thought and decided if Geoffrey didn’t pick up on it he’d fire him for being a piss poor excuse for a doctor.

With a defeated sigh, McCoy dropped himself into the available chair.

“What’s troubling you?” M’Benga asked softly.

There was a long pause as McCoy tried to find the words to explain.

“I’ve been having these dreams,” he began awkwardly. He wasn’t one to believe over far in too much meaning in dreams although he’d never dismiss them. But… “They’ve been very vivid… very real.”

He stared at his desk, noticing all the odd marks it had accrued and idly remembering where they’d come from.

“Leonard. I won’t record the details of your dreams – beyond that they’re vivid and real – but as your doctor it would help me to know what they’re about. I can only help you if I know what you’re experiencing.”

There was another silence as M’Benga waited to see what Leonard would decide.

“I dream it’s real,” he finally announced. “The pregnancy,” he added to clarify.

M’Benga nodded and left the silence for McCoy to fill.

“In my dreams, I’m in a happy, stable relationship and we’re both so happy about the baby. So damned happy. Its wanted and cherished and we’re goddamn choosing names!” He broke off to try and get his emotions under control.

“You say ‘we’,” M’Benga noted. “Is it a recognisable individual? Or a homogenous partner?”

McCoy’s eyes dropped to his lap.

“Recognisable,” he responded.

M’Benga nodded and considered how far he should push this.

“I’m not going to ask who but tell me, is it someone with whom you’ve considered a relationship before?”

“Thought about, yeah. Pretty much out of my league though.”

M’Benga studied McCoy as he would any patient, noting the vacant stare, the slump in his shoulders, the pallor of his cheeks, the slight weight gain from comfort eating…

“Vivid dreams are unfortunately another side effect,” he commented. “It’s natural for this condition to prompt thoughts of relationships and your hormonal imbalance is probably tending you towards moods of depression.”

McCoy nodded, knowing all this already.

“Would you like me to prescribe something to help you sleep?”

McCoy shook his head.

“It’s the waking up that’s difficult,” he admitted. “The dreams are so… nice. And waking up… realising it was all just… _nothing_ …”

“I think you need to change your morning routine,” M’Benga suggested. “You normally follow a callisthenics workout on your own don’t you?” At McCoy’s nod he continued. “Try meeting up with the captain for a joint workout. Perhaps swimming. You’re a social creature Leonard. You need company.”

McCoy took a deep breath and let it out, releasing some of his unease.

“Yeah. Pretty sure Jim’ll agree to that.” He made to leave but M’Benga stood and called to him before he could.

“Leonard. As your friend, I think you should talk to the captain about your dreams. If you can talk about whoever it is in your waking hours then you might be less afflicted when you’re asleep.”

McCoy hesitated.

“I’ll consider it,” he finally offered.

♡

“This was a great idea Bones.” Kirk caught the edge of the pool with a hand. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

McCoy grinned.

“Nothing beats swimming for good exercise,” McCoy informed him. “Your body works harder in water, it helps lower stress, improves cardiovascular function and because the water supports your weight it’s great for pregna-” he bit himself off but the damage was done.

“For pregnancies,” Kirk concluded. He looked hard at his friend. “Bones, I know I’ve teased but… you aren’t pregnant.”

“I know that,” he snapped back, considering just pushing off from the side and doing some more laps. However the growing cramp told him it probably wasn’t worth drowning just to avoid this conversation.

“What’s going on Bones?” Kirk’s voice held genuine concern.

McCoy stared vacantly across the empty pool for a long moment.

“I can’t shake the feeling its real,” he confessed. “I’m having vivid dreams where I really am pregnant… and when I wake up it’s like losing a child. Day after day,” he growled bitterly.

“Bones…” Jim could think of nothing comforting to say so he simply gripped his friend’s shoulder. McCoy shot him a grateful look.

“I know it’s not real… of course I do… but whenever I stop _thinking_ for a second and just feel…”

Jim floundered.

“What does M’Benga say? Isn’t there anything else to try?”

McCoy shook his head.

“Best guess is still that it’ll wear off on its own. Couvade syndrome’s hardly well documented. Some doctors still don’t even believe it’s real. There’s no ailment to treat, especially now it’s mostly just psychological effects.”

“How long does it usually last? The whole pregnancy?”

“Can do but cases vary. It may last 38 weeks or be gone tomorrow. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Jim nodded. He hated situations like this where he was so helpless.

“Well, at least I can keep you company in your morning exercise routine,” he said with forced cheerfulness.

“And I appreciate that Jim.”

Kirk turned to pull himself out of the pool when McCoy caught his shoulder.

“There’s another thing,” he spoke hesitatingly.

Jim turned back and waited, watching as McCoy’s eyes sought strength from anything round the room.

“In the dreams… the ones where I’m really pregnant… well…” McCoy actually bit his lip before continuing. “The baby’s Spock’s,” he finished suddenly.

“Spock’s?” Jim replied dumbly.

“Yeah.”

There were a lot of questions Jim suddenly wanted to ask about this but the way McCoy still wouldn’t look at him told its own story.

“And you wouldn’t mind that?” he suggested carefully.

“I don’t want to be pregnant, Jim.” McCoy snapped his eyes to his. “I’m not acting out a fantasy.”

“Of course not. I didn’t mean to suggest you’re in any way pretending,” Jim rushed to reassure him. “I just meant… you wouldn’t mind being… in a relationship, with Spock?”

McCoy glanced away again.

“Probably seems crazy don’t it? The way I rail at him about his pointy ears and green blood…”

Jim couldn’t help from grinning.

“Actually, I think it makes a lot of sense.”

McCoy glared at him suspiciously.

“And it certainly explains why you’ve not wanted to tell him about any of this. I think Doctor, part of you didn’t want to give him the impression you might be knocked up by someone else.”

“Now see here-” McCoy began before recognising the laughter threatening to burst out of his friend. “You’re a bastard, you know that?” he said in a much milder tone.

“I’m sorry,” Jim replied, smiling, both sincere and not at the same time. “But seriously Bones, even if you don’t want to talk about the whole…” he waved a hand to indicate the whole sympathetic pregnancy business. “Why haven’t you ever said anything about, you know, _liking_ him?”

“ _Liking_ him? Jim, what are you? Five?”

It didn’t escape Kirk’s notice that McCoy was avoiding answering. But he wasn’t ship’s captain for nothing.

“Alright, Doctor. If not ‘like’, how would you phrase it?”

McCoy looked away, embarrassed, and decided to answer the original question instead.

“I haven’t said anything because what would be the point? In the best case scenario he’d acknowledge I’m at the mercy of human emotions that can’t be helped and be considerate enough to not let it change our current relationship. Worst case, he’d transfer or something to avoid having any ridiculous emotions interfere with ship’s business.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a very negative outlook at times?”

McCoy stared him down.

“You know I’m right.”

“No. I don’t think you are,” Jim replied seriously. “He’s been genuinely worried about you Bones. He’s at least as fond of you as he is of me.”

“You saying you think he’d date you?” McCoy arched an eyebrow in challenge.

“I could date anyone and you know it,” Jim returned swiftly before turning serious once more. “I however, don’t want to date him. We’d be terrible together. You two however-”

“Are not going to happen,” McCoy completed promptly. He quickly waved off Jim’s new complaint. “Look, Jim, even if there is a possibility – which I don’t think there is – I am most certainly not going to approach him while I’m dealing with a phantom pregnancy. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is!”

Jim relented.

“Fine. I’ll allow that perhaps now isn’t the best time. But this isn’t settled yet Bones,” he added warningly.

“I’ll look forward to that when things are back to normal,” McCoy muttered. “Now, we’d best get out of the pool before we’re so wrinkly Starfleet try and retire us.”

♡

When Spock stepped into sickbay, McCoy had a moment of forgetfulness and smiled warmly at him. He had just opened his mouth to ask how his day had gone when reality crashed back on him.

His mouth snapped shut and he blinked in alarm as he realised how close he’d come to calling Spock ‘darling’.

“Are you feeling well Doctor?”

Spock had clearly noticed the unusual silence that greeted his arrival.

McCoy flushed and tried to remember just what it was he’d last told Spock about his symptoms. He had a memory of Spock massaging his aching back but he was pretty sure that had been a dream.

He rubbed at his head and decided to stick as near to the truth as he dared.

“Got a first class migraine coming on,” he muttered.

“Then should you really still be working? I understood your shift ending 37.6 minutes ago.”

McCoy waved a hand irritably.

“I had patients to finish with, I could hardly just _leave_.”

“If you are suffering yourself it is illogical to-”

“Don’t start damn well quoting logic at me.” McCoy kneaded more vigorously at the sides of his head. “That only ever makes my head ache worse.”

There was a pause but McCoy didn’t dare look up. In his current confused state he wasn’t sure he trusted himself.

“Is there not a medicine you can take for your migraine?”

McCoy couldn’t help but look up with a wan smile.

“Yeah but I’d rather not keep dosing myself up.”

Spock’s blink showed his surprise.

“You are suffering headaches frequently?”

McCoy looked away again.

“Just had a lot on my mind recently. I’ll be fine after a good night’s rest.” He purposely didn’t add that he was unlikely to get a good night’s rest. Not with his continuing vivid dreams.

“In that case I shall escort you to your quarters.”

“I don’t need a damned escort! I can find my own way there!”

His angry reply didn’t faze the Vulcan in the slightest and he just stood waiting for McCoy. With a sigh, the doctor relented.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

As they walked together out into the corridor, it finally occurred to McCoy to ask, “What did you want in sickbay anyway?”

“In point of fact, Doctor, I merely visited to enquire after your health.”

McCoy risked a sideways glance at his companion.

“Has my efficiency been slipping?”

“Not at all, however it is apparent that you are not getting adequate rest and appear to be suffering the effects as increased fatigue and aches.”

McCoy waited for Spock to explain how this was detrimental to the smooth running of the ship but nothing else seemed forthcoming.

“So?” he prompted eventually.

Spock glanced at him.

“I would be willing to offer assistance in meditative techniques or muscle relaxation therapies.”

The doctor looked quickly away. While the idea of Spock sitting with him in his quarters helping him relax… rubbing some of those aches away… was undoubtedly appealing, it was far too dangerous to allow. He’d nearly slipped when Spock had merely stopped by to say ‘hello’. How much more likely was it when ensconced alone?

“I will keep your offer in mind, Mister Spock,” McCoy responded truthfully, knowing the idea of a massage at Spock’s hands would definitely stay in his thoughts. “But I think I just need peace and quiet tonight.”

“As you wish. The offer will remain open should you reconsider at any time.”

They remained quiet until they reached McCoy’s quarters, and the doctor was about to let out a sigh of relief as he escaped, when Spock spoke again.

“Please make sure you eat something before sleeping, Leonard.”

And with that Spock turned and left, leaving a stunned doctor stood in his doorway.


	5. Week 20 - Birth of Something Beautiful

McCoy had resorted to striping lengths of his own tunic to both bandage wounds and tie up broken bones. His medikit had been taken from him long since. He was resolved never to volunteer for a landing party ever again.

Although, come to think of it, he hadn’t volunteered for this one.

This wasn’t the first landing party Leonard had been on since the start of the whole ‘pregnancy’ business – it wasn’t the first alien attack either – but _something_ about this time must have been different.

Maybe it was just their relative positions in this ambush… maybe it was the fact he’d been dragged early out of bed when he’d actually been sleeping deeply for once… or maybe it was simply how much this whole thing was wearing him down mentally.

Whatever it was, when he saw the creature sprinting towards him he reacted instinctively.

He curled protectively round his abdomen, looked across to Spock and yelled, “Darlin!”

Spock, somewhat surprisingly, reacted immediately to the call. He spun, spotted the danger and quickly shot a phaser blast to stun the creature. Moments later he was at McCoy’s side and laying a hand on his bare stomach without thinking.

“Are you alright?”

McCoy met his worried gaze and just blinked at him.

“We need to talk,” he replied abruptly.

Spock seemed to realise his hand was still on the doctor and snapped it back. He gave a curt nod.

“Later, Doctor,” he acknowledged before heading back to support the other members of the team. Leonard pulled himself together and continued his hunched run to where a groaning red shirt was in need of medical help.

He would think about what just happened later when they weren’t in imminent threat of dying.

♡

‘Later’ turned out to be night-time on the ship.

Escaping the ambush had taken some time, and dealing with the political ramifications had taken Spock’s attention while dealing with the influx of injuries had absorbed McCoy.

At the end of his shift, with sickbay finally cleared of patients, McCoy had eventually had time to sit and reflect on the mornings events.

He was regretting demanding a talk now.

In the heat of the moment it had seemed so obvious that Spock _knew_. Knew that McCoy was imagining being pregnant, knew that he’d developed hopeless _feelings_ for the Vulcan.

Looking back on it now, that seemed less obvious.

Yes, McCoy had called the First Officer ‘Darling’, but Spock probably put that down to human stress in a life-threatening situation. He may not have even registered the word choice so much as heard the shrill terror in McCoy’s tone.

McCoy certainly hoped no-one else had noticed what he’d said, and he was more than thankful Jim had still been tied up some distance away.

And the hand on his abdomen was probably just because McCoy himself had curled round in on himself. Surely it was _logical_ for Spock to assume that indicated an injury of some sort.

McCoy realised his own hand was resting there again and he forced it back to grip the table edge.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself.

“Is now a bad time?” Spock spoke cautiously from the doorway.

“No. Come on in.” McCoy gestured at the chair opposite and watched as Spock very carefully seated himself. He briefly wondered how best to broach the topic when the Vulcan spared him the trouble.

“I believe there has been some transference for which I must apologise.”

McCoy blinked and wondered what Spock was talking about. Had something else happened this morning that he thought needed discussing?

As the doctor continued to stare blankly at him, Spock seemed to feel it necessary to elaborate.

“When we experienced skin contact earlier, your thoughts were surprisingly strong. You were thinking of being pregnant.” Spock seemed to rethink this. “More than that, you had a deep belief you _were_ pregnant.” 

McCoy dropped his gaze. Guess that answered whether or not Spock knew.

“Having considered this at length I can only conclude this situation is due to my own insufficient mental barriers.”

“Wait… what?”

“At Melkot, I melded with you in some haste. It was unfortunate there was insufficient time to prepare myself and in hindsight I should have checked with you to see if there were any lasting effects.”

McCoy leant forward as he tried to gather together the facts he was being given to make an explanation.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why should a rushed mind meld leave me thinking I’m pregnant?”

Spock looked away awkwardly.

“As I stated, it appears there was some transference.”

McCoy frowned.

Transference: meaning some form of transfer from Spock to McCoy. The only thing Spock could possibly mean was the idea of McCoy being pregnant came from Spock’s mind. Which meant Spock had thoughts about McCoy being pregnant.

But did the idea of the baby being Spock’s come from him as well? Or was that simply McCoy’s own subconscious wish?

It dawned on the doctor that Spock was still talking.

“… the ritual of Kolinahr will banish the untampered emotions that led to this situation. I shall request leave of Starfleet to return to Vulcan and-”

“Now wait one goddamn minute,” McCoy interrupted firmly. “Before you go running of to conduct Kolineer or whatever, I still have a number of questions I want answered.”

Spock didn’t look keen at the prospect but he nodded.

“That would be reasonable.”

“You said transference, meaning you’ve spent time thinking about me being pregnant?”

“I have considered the thought,” he allowed.

“‘Considered the thought’,” McCoy repeated. “What does that mean? You’ve considered it from a scientific perspective? It’s been an idle speculation?”

Spock shifted slightly.

“Idle speculation would not be subject to transference as you have experienced it. Transference is primarily an emotional subcurrent to a mind meld hence why I believe Kolinahr-”

McCoy swiftly waved this diversion away.

“It’s emotional?” he clarified. “Does that mean… you enjoy the thought of me being pregnant?”

“Enjoy is perhaps not the right word,” Spock hedged.

McCoy knew the Vulcan well enough to know that while he wouldn’t outright lie, he would avoid answering if possible.

“Spock,” he decided to try the direct approach. “Do you imagine being the father of my child?”

Spock stared at McCoy’s desk avidly.

“I do,” he responded quietly.

McCoy let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Forgive me Doctor, for causing you distress. I will go now.”

As Spock rose and moved to leave in a single fluid movement, McCoy stood abruptly.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said quickly.

Spock stopped and turned to look at the doctor.

“I mean, I’m not saying I want children right this minute but… if it’s with you… well, I’d think about it,” he finished awkwardly.

“You would consider a relationship with me?” There was a hint of incredulity to Spock’s tone that brought a smile to McCoy’s lips.

“Wouldn’t need to consider that,” he said. “You’d only have to ask darlin’.”

Spock’s surprise was evident.

“Then you are not angry? About the transference?”

“Oh I’m angry,” McCoy confirmed quite placidly, with a slight bounce. “You’ve got several weeks of insomnia and nausea to make up for, amongst other things.”

“I shall meld with you to remove the suggestion,” Spock offered.

“You better,” McCoy responded, moving round his desk to approach him. “Seems to me though that you won’t be able to sufficiently make up for what you put me through if you go running off to Vulcan.”

“Indeed,” Spock agreed, watching the human’s advance with interest.

“So,” McCoy came to a stop a pace away. “You goin’ to ask?”

Spock reached out a hand to catch at McCoy’s. The question he asked wasn’t quite the one the doctor expected.

“May I kiss you Leonard?”

Leonard felt his breath hitch.

“That you may,” he responded somewhat breathily.

He was pulled forward and warm lips captured his own, claiming them. All too soon they pulled away. McCoy glanced to where their fingers were entwined.

“Show me how Vulcans kiss,” he requested.

Spock raised their hands and deftly rearranged their fingers so the index and middle fingers could run over each other.

“This is the _ozh'esta_ ,” he explained.

McCoy smiled as he saw how avidly Spock focused on his fingers.

“That’s good for you huh?”

“It is. You have most appealing hands, Doctor.”

“Thought I was Leonard now?” McCoy objected mildly.

“I find your title suits you,” Spock was not quite apologetic.

“Hhhmm,” Leonard didn’t want to agree so he decided to stop the conversation by pulling Spock back into a human kiss.

When they parted this time, McCoy was breathless.

Spock ran his fingers tenderly down the sides of his face.

“I do not believe it would be wise to attempt a corrective meld at this time. I may make your condition worse.”

McCoy bit his lip.

“Perhaps in the morning?” he suggested. “You could stay in my quarters tonight. We might be able to find a way to exorcise some of those untampered emotions.” He pressed himself against Spock, leaving the Vulcan in no doubt as to how McCoy thought might be best.

To McCoy’s delight, Spock didn’t hesitate in wrapping strong arms round him to hold him in place.

“I believe your suggestion has much to recommend it,” he agreed. “Although my quarters might be preferable.”

“Why your quarters?” the doctor growled.

“My meditative lamp and incense are there which will be necessary in the morning.” He placed a finger to McCoy’s lips as the other man seemed about to object. “Plus, I understand the First Officer is supplied with a slightly larger bed than other officers.”

McCoy’s eyes lit up and he turned his head so he could kiss Spock’s palm.

“Lead the way,” he suggested.

In response, Spock lifted McCoy off his feet and carried him out the door.

“Hey!” McCoy objected. “You ain’t going to carry me!”

An eyebrow arched.

“You can hardly stop me Leonard,” Spock pointed out.

McCoy gripped him tighter although Spock’s hold showed no sign of letting him fall.

“And what if someone sees us?” he hissed, glancing round the thankfully empty sickbay.

“Then they will recognise that you are mine,” Spock answered but stopped before leaving the room. “Does that upset you?” he queried.

McCoy met his eyes, recognising the uncertainty there. He sighed, knowing he may well regret this decision later but unwilling to hurt Spock for the sake of his ego.

“No, it doesn’t upset me darlin’,” he murmured.

“Good,” Spock placed a quick kiss on Leonard’s lips. “I would have everyone recognise that you now belong to me.”

Leonard let his head rest on the Vulcan’s shoulder as he allowed himself to be carried down the corridors.

“Just as long as you belong to me too.”

“Always Leonard. Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched,” Spock murmured.

♡

Jim didn’t need to have heard the rumours to work out what had happened when he saw his two senior officers sat together in the messhall next morning. Bones had his arm wrapped round one of Spock’s even as they were both attempting to eat their breakfast.

“Gentlemen,” Jim smirked.

“Captain,” Spock nodded in acknowledgement.

“Morning Jim!” McCoy sounded more cheerful than he had in weeks.

“Care to explain some of the rumours I’ve heard this morning?” Jim enquired mock seriously.

“That would depend on what rumours you have heard,” Spock replied. McCoy just smirked.

“Well the one thing they all agree on is that you were seen carrying our Chief Medical Officer through the corridors.”

McCoy was slightly surprised. He hadn’t realised anyone had actually seen them last night. Of course, he had been slightly distracted by the easy accessibility of a certain pointy ear. He glanced at said ear now.

“That rumour is true,” Spock conceded.

“And I’m sure you have a logical reason,” Jim prompted when nothing else seemed forthcoming.

“Indeed.”

McCoy smirked again. Jim should know he’d have to phrase it as a question if he wanted an answer.

“The crew seem divided over the reasoning,” Jim continued conversationally.

“Oh?” He had McCoy’s interest now.

“Yeah. Most think you’d overindulged and Spock was removing you somewhere private to sober up.”

“Why of all the nerve,” McCoy muttered in annoyance. “I don’t drink to excess. Not when I could be called on duty.”

“And the other lot think you finally pushed Spock too far and he nerve pinched you.”

“What?!” McCoy was outraged at this suggestion.

“Why then was I carrying him?” Spock queried.

“You were trying to hide the evidence,” Jim responded promptly.

“Unsuccessfully, if we were observed,” Spock commented.

Jim grinned and prompted them again.

“So?” he asked eagerly. “Why were you carrying Bones last night?”

“So he would not have to walk,” Spock responded smoothly. McCoy gave him a fond look before turning back to Jim.

“Why’re you asking Jim? Ain’t it obvious?”

“Course it is but I still want the details.”

McCoy shook his head in amused disbelief. He was too happy this morning to be annoyed at their captain.

“All you need to know is we’re very happy and Spock managed to cure my psychosomatic condition.”

That distracted Kirk sufficiently to put him off his line of questioning.

“Really? You let him mess round in your head? Thought you didn’t trust all that ‘Vulcan voodoo’?”

“I don’t,” the doctor declared, drawing a raised eyebrow from Spock. “But I do trust Spock,” he added.

Jim smiled a genuinely happy smile for his friends.

Across the table, Spock offered two joined fingers towards the doctor who swiftly responded in kind.

“Gentlemen,” Jim raised his coffee mug in toast. “To happy endings.”

“No, Jim,” Spock amended. “To new beginnings.”

New beginnings indeed, Jim thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have ideas for a sequel...


End file.
